A Day too Late and a Sovereign too Short
by Hatsepsut
Summary: Another present fic. Fenris finally realises he loves Hawke after she nearly dies, but when he goes to tell her, he finds her with Anders. Smut, heartache, angst and a little bit of fluff. Contains explicit material, so NSFW (as per usual). Anders/F!Hawke, Fenris/F!Hawke


**_This is a present fic for my dear, dear friend Letticiae, who was, a loooong time ago, the 200th reviewer of My name is Tethras, Varric Tethras fic. _**

**_Leti, I am so thrilled you liked this!_**

_How in the name of that was holy have we come to this_, Fenris wondered for the millionth time, Hawke's head cradled on his lap. How in the Maker's name had a day that had begun so well ended up with him frantically trying not to let Hawke slip into unconsciousness, while Varric raced back to the city to get Anders?

It had been nothing grand, no glorious combat, no injury sustained in the heat of battle. They had been walking down a winding path on the Wounded coast, and Hawke had looked back to them and smiled at something Varric had said...and she had tripped.

Her one foot had slipped, that was all. That was all it had taken.

For as long as he lived, Fenris would never forget the way her eyes had widened in sudden panic as she had lost her footing and went tumbling down the steep cliff. He would never forget the fearful, abrupt realization that had widened her eyes when, in a split second, she had realised she wouldn't be able to regain her balance, that she was going to fall, and fall hard. He had jerked forward, intending to catch her, but he had been too late, and all he could do was grasp on to a piece of her robes that tore with a sickening sound as gravity pulled her body over the edge.

There had been a scream, his name, at least he thought so, he couldn't remember. All he would ever be able to remember was the look in her eyes as she fell, and then the sickening sound of her body hitting the rocks underneath. He had nearly dived right after her, shouting her name until his voice had gotten hoarse. Varric had kept him back, and they had both lain on the edge of the cliff, staring at the body lying on the rocks a few feet underneath, limbs twisted in weird angles and blood spreading around the midnight black hair that was framing her face.

It had taken Fenris a few minutes to climb down the cliff, a few minutes that had felt like hours. He had been holding his breath while searching for a pulse at her neck and for a few heartbreaking minutes, he couldn't hear anything, only the blood rushing in his veins, only the terrified hammering of his own heartbeat, tattooing against his ribcage. But then he had felt it, a small, barely-there fluttering of her pulse under his fingers and a little breathless sigh that escaped her, pained and dazed. He'd called up to the dwarf that she was alive and urged him to go get help, to go get that damned abomination, to _run, run, run, damn you Varric, why are you still here_? The dwarf had called out to him to keep her warm and conscious, warned him not to let her sleep and then had started running at the top of his speed-which wasn't much, unfortunately- towards Kirkwall, even leaving Bianca behind in the blind, panicked fear that had gripped them both.

"Hawke," he caressed her face, then when he didn't respond slapped her very lightly. "Don't fall asleep on me, Hawke."

She cracked one eye open just a tiny bit and tried to smile up to him, the feeble attempt getting lost in a pained wince as the left side of her face was beginning to swell up.

"Oh, goody," she drawled and sighed. "Two Fenrises. Which of you hit me?"

"You have a concussion, Hawke," he patiently explained once more. "You must not fall asleep. Stay focused. Focus on my voice."

"Niccce voice," she slurred, then her eyes opened again and she smiled, as best as she could with one side of her face a swollen, moulted bruise. "Talk t' me."

"What do you wish me to tell you, Hawke?"

He eyes closed again and a shudder went through her body.

"Anythin'..." she sleepily drawled and he had to shake her again so she wouldn't sleep.

"Do you hurt?"

"Doesn't...hurt...anymore."

He started panicking again. That wasn't good. Not good at all. He rearranged the cloak he had thrown over her, too scared of her injuries to move her and do what he really wanted to: hold her close, cuddle her, let his body heat warm her chilling body. He pushed the bangs of blood-soaked hair out of her eyes, and then his hand trailed down the porcelain skin of the unmarred side of her face, a slight tremble betraying his anxiety and fear. His fingers were trembling for another reason too, though, one he ruthlessly shoved out of his brain and refused to dwel on.

This was the first time he was touching her face since that night.

She opened her bright feline eyes, the sparkling tawny colour dulled and fogged, and Fenris again noticed how her pupils were dilating out of sync with one another. He knew that was the sign of a severe concussion and an icy hand of fear wrapped its frigid fingers round his heart and squeezed at the sight, making his breath hitch.

"Hawke?"

She smiled brightly, happily, as much as she was able at least, and her unbroken hand came up to clutch his.

"Fenrisss," she murmured, her speech slurred more and more, "you came back. I knew...you'd co..." and then she fainted, sending him into a panic.

"Hawke! HAWKE!" he shook her by the shoulder, his voice desperate. "Marian! Stay with me!"

She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and then her eyes opened again, her eyelids drooping; it was obviously a struggle for her to remain awake. She gave him a confused look and then a small smile. She wanted to ask him if the offer was going to be good for later, but she couldn't speak, her mind was too fogged to actually send the command to her mouth. Instead, she blinked once, clutched his hand a little more strongly and tried her best to smile.

He seemed frantic now, he was shouting something to her, but she couldn't hear him; someone had stuffed her ears full of cotton and all sound was being muffled. Why was he so worried? She was okay now, she didn't hurt, her body was feeling oddly light, as if floating on a cloud. She wasn't even cold anymore. Vaguely, some part of her brain whispered that wasn't good but she ignored it. The searing pain was gone, and she wasn't shaking anymore; was she dying?

Funny, but the thought didn't bring her fear. She would see her family again, her beloved father, her mother, Carver and Bethany. It wasn't difficult after all, all she had to do was let go of his hand, and close her eyes; there was no pain, no sadness.

Well, maybe just this sadness, her brain hazily provided as Fenris now bent his head over her chest, his hand still desperately clutching hers, and she felt his body shake in silent sobs against hers. She would have to leave Fenris. A pang went through her heart at the thought. She had been waiting for him for three years; she couldn't leave him now.

"Fen'is," her voice rasped and he raised his mossy green eyes to her, tears swimming.

"Don't speak Hawke!" he swiped at the tears that had escaped him. "Reserve your strength. Anders will be here soon and you'll be just fine."

"I thin' I'm dying."

"Don't say that! Hawke please, don't say that. You'll be fine."

She offered him a small, sad smile and her eyes closed again on a small sigh. Maker, it was so difficult to keep her thoughts together, it was so difficult to fight the urge to just close her eyes and give in, follow the warm, comforting voice that told her to rest for a while, to sleep.

"Marian, don't close your eyes, look at me," she heard his voice again and instinctively she obeyed it, a memory jarring her. He had called her Marian that night. She thought she would never hear the sound of her name on his lips again; it was magical to hear it now, while she was dying.

"Stay with me."

She smiled then, a bittersweet smile. Her eyebrows scrunched up. She wanted to tell him something, but what? She couldn't remember anymore. Her thought were slipping from her brain like sand through her fingers. "Three years..." she mumbled. "I waited... too late."

She sighed, and closed her eyes again. And this time, despite his frantic pleas and his shaking, her mind disconnected from her body and she found herself slipping away, being drawn into a blurry, shapeless tunnel where a bright light and cheery voices awaited at the other end.

Fenris held his breath as her eyes closed and she drew two small erratic breaths; then nothing.

He howled, like the wolf he was named after, throwing his head back, clutching her still, lifeless body.

"Hawke! HAWKE! MARIAN! Don't leave me!"

She didn't move, she didn't breathe, she didn't open those huge, tawny eyes and wink at him.

_Too late. Too late. Too late._ Her words echoed in his mind, making cold dread spread in concentric circles form his heart to his toes. _I waited. Too late._

"HAWKE!" he bellowed. "COME BACK!"

His heart shattered like the glass bottles he was in the custom of throwing to the wall. _Maker, no, no, no,_ he pleaded. _Not Hawke. Not her. I will do anything, Maker, please no. She is the only woman I have ever loved. And I haven't even told her. Maker, please, I beg of you, not her. Not like this. _

He heard rubble being displaced from above and raised a tear stained face to the sight of Anders clambering down the cliff as best and as fast as he could. Reluctant to give her up, and knowing it was futile, he gathered her bruised, still bleeding body to him, and held her close, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

The healer's gait faltered.

"It's too late," Fenris choked. "You're too late. She's gone."

"When? Has it been long?" Anders knelt next to them and tried to pry her out of the elf's arms, but Fenris squeezed her even tighter and pulled away.

"Let me examine her, you stupid prick! It might not be too late yet!" Anders' voice rang with urgent authority. "Let go of her."

Fenris howled again, making the blood in the healer's veins run cold with the anguish in his voice. Then he slowly relinquished her body, drew away and turned his back, not wanting to see the obvious signs of her...

"She still has a pulse. Faint, very faint, erratic, but it's there, barely," Anders said and Fenris' heart nearly bulged out of his chest with the frantic, violent beat of his shock. He rushed to her again, only to see Anders' blue glow over her, one hand on her forehead and another on her abdomen. Beads of sweat were already running down the healer's face and his lips had clenched into a tight line.

He had never been grateful for the existence of magic before, he had never thanked the Maker for mages and their talents, but he did so now, as he watched colour return to Hawke's face and her chest rise with slow steady breaths. He looked at Anders with tears in his eyes, ready to just kiss the man- he was _that_ grateful- but the dark look on the healer's face froze his heart again.

"What is it? There is something wrong, what is it?"

"Her head injury is severe," Anders explained, petting the hair that was covering a part of her scalp that had swollen to a frighteningly abnormal size. "And I don't have any lyrium with me. If I start trying to repair the damage and run out of mana in the middle, I could do more damage than good."

"Use me," Fenris didn't even think before offering. "Use the lyrium in my skin."

Anders shot him a perplexed look. "Is that even possible? And...won't it hurt you?"

Fenris scoffed and barred his forearm. "That is the purpose the markings were originally created for, so that my 'master'" he spat the word, "could draw energy to power his spells. And yes, it will hurt me. Have you any other alternatives?"

Anders shot a look to Hawke, then another to the elf, and he sighed and nodded. "Okay then, but don't blame me afterwards."

He hesitantly laid his hand on the elf's forearm and gasped as every little hair on his body stood on end at the raw power coursing under his fingertips. He instinctively drew on that power, oblivious to the flinch the elf gave, almost intoxicated by the rush of pure lyrium curling around his magic, recharging him. Justice purred in his mind, and blue cracks appeared all over his skin. This was...this was raw, powerful, a blaze of elemental energy crackling in the air around him. This was what creation felt like, this was unlimited power, he could draw on this until the power coursing through him...then he heard the elf scream and he was brought back to himself with a shudder.

Hawke... Right. Hawke. He had to heal Hawke. Before the damned elf passed out.

* * *

When Hawke came to, she was in her own house, in her room, tucked in on her soft, comfortable bed. She blinked in confusion and sudden panic, trying hard to gather her thoughts, to piece together her scattered memories. Hadn't she fallen off a cliff? Fenris was there, wasn't he? She could vaguely remember his voice asking her, pleading with her not to fall asleep, not to leave him.

She turned her head, bracing against the sudden headache as her hand was gently pulled out from inside the blankets. She saw Anders, one hand on her wrist, counting her pulse.

"Anders," she rasped and then licked bone dry lips. "Water."

He smiled brightly at her, before helping her sip a few drops of water, explaining that any more would make her sick.

She blanked out again with his calm assurance that she was going to be just fine, and one unvoiced question burning on her lips.

Where was Fenris?

* * *

He tossed another bottle at the wall. Not even alcohol helped anymore, it could do nothing to drown his erratic, frantic emotions. He felt like he was being hammered on an anvil. Maker, he had never been more terrified in his life. How to tell her, Maker, how to make her see? How to make up for his own amazing stupidity, for his cowardice?

_Three years. I waited...it's too late. _

Her voice was ringing in his head. Maker, he had nearly lost her. She had nearly slipped from inside his fingers, like sand in the surf. It had taken that terror, that breathtaking pain at that moment he'd thought she had been taken from his life forever to make him see, to make him finally accept the fact that the woman was as necessary to him as the breath in his lungs.

And here he was now, still a blighted, simpering idiot, still a cowering, spineless cowardly yellow dog of a man.

It had been four days. Four days of this fear, this pain, this uncertainty. He wanted to go to her, debase himself at her feet, grovel and beg for her to take him back. He wanted to open his mouth and let the torrent of emotions that were overwhelming him spill out in the words of love he owed her, the words he had left her waiting for... for three fucking years.

But he couldn't.

Maker help him, he couldn't.

Frustrated, he kicked the little stool next to the fireplace into the wall, and it cracked into pieces, tossing splinters everywhere. He grabbed another bottle. Maybe after he had drunk this, he would finally get the courage to go to her. The taste flooded his mouth, burned down his throat as he took one swig after the other.

Just one more bottle, and then he would go to her.

One more bottle.

* * *

"He isn't coming Hawke...How long will you wait for him?" Anders' arm wrapped around her waist. "Another three years?"

Hawke drew back from the window, blushing at being caught gazing at the direction of Fenris' derelict mansion again. She tried to offer Anders a smile, but it was feeble and sad, and she gave up. What was the point? Anders had been here for her since the beginning, since that morning he had rushed into her room, alarmed by Bodahn's summons, to find her sobbing on her pillow. He had been by her side all that time, a rock for her to lean on, a shoulder to cry on, a tender, warm presence to comfort her loneliness. He knew. There was no reason hiding from him.

"He asked me not to leave him...he screamed for me," her eyes pleaded with him to understand. "He allowed you to draw from the lyrium in his skin to save me. He cares for me, Anders, I know he does."

Anders huffed. "He has a funny way of showing it."

Hawke smiled sadly at him again. Anders loved her. He had confessed his love to her years ago, but she had told him her heart had already been taken. And that sweet, caring man, bless his soul, had asked her to allow him to stay at her side as a friend, if he could be nothing else. And all this time, he had been nothing but, he had stood by her side, offering her his heart on a silver platter. And what did she do? She pined after that broody, opinionated elf that hated what she was with all his heart, if he had one.

She felt the first stirrings of anger in her soul.

"He cannot help being what he is, Hawke. He might love you, in his own twisted way, but he will never overcome his hate for what you are." Anders, on his honour, hadn't tried to bad-mouth Fenris, hadn't tried to sway her heart by smearing his opponent. "He has let one bad experience colour his whole life, he is incapable of seeing past the mage and to the amazing woman you are. Maybe if you weren't a mage...Let him go, I beg of you. Don't torture yourself anymore."

She smiled to hide her tears.

"Perhaps...perhaps I shoul2d," she said, and against her will, one tear spilled. "Perhaps I should...try and forget him. Perhaps I should move on."

Anders' breath caught.

"Will you consider me, then?"

Hawke managed a chuckle amid her tears. "No, I think I'll just toss you away and go for someone else. Cullen has been pretty nice to me lately."

Anders growled playfully and then wrapped his arms around her waist once more, drawing her to him with the familiarity of a long trusted friend.

"I will be right here, Hawke, waiting."

She stroked his chin, her lips trembling.

"I am sorry Anders...you have been waiting for as long as I have." She closed her eyes and her tears escaped over her sooty black eyelashes. "It's just not fair."

He wiped he tears from her face. "I don't mind, Hawke, not as long you allow me a place in your life. I am perfectly content being your friend."

She opened those cat-like eyes of her and smiled cheekily, although her heart was breaking.

"Oh, perfectly content, are you?" she teased. "And what is this, my lord mage? Do you have a dagger in your robes?"

Anders laughed. The little minx knew what her proximity did to him, but he had long become accustomed to her teasing. It wasn't done maliciously, or to torment him; Hawke was an extremely shy woman, very guarded, and this friendly, sultry teasing just spoke volumes of how much she trusted him. She would never dare be so suggestive with someone else, not even with that elf, especially after the way he had taken her and then left her crying her eyes out.

"Keep rubbing against it, Hawke, and I'll have no choice but to show it to you," he teased back and she blushed to the roots of her hair.

Then her eyes lowered and she bit her lip.

"Maybe...maybe you should," she stuttered and Anders' eyes shot wide in shock. _Was she...Maker. Was she really... was she still teasing?_

"Hawke?"

"I am tired of being alone, Anders," her voice steadied, and new resolve shone in her bright amber eyes. "I am tired of sleeping alone, I'm tired of having no one to hold me, love me, make me feel like I am worth something..."

"You are worth everything," he interrupted with a finger on her lips, his voice hoarse. "Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"Yes."

Anders wrapped his arms even tighter around her, bringing her lithe little body flush to his, and searched deep into her eyes for any sign of uncertainty before his mouth lowered and claimed her in the kind of kiss he had been longing to give her for years.

_Maker, yes,_ a voice rejoiced in his brain, as she eagerly accepted his kiss. _Maker, finally_.

_That_ voice was definitely _not_ Justice.

* * *

Fenris was ashamed to admit it even to himself, but he knew just how wide the ledge under Hawke's bedroom window was, and just how strong the ivy climbing up the wooden latticed trellis that supported it. The reason he knew was one he was even more ashamed to admit: he had spend quite a few nights perched up there, lonely as a cuckoo bird, just staring at her sleep.

He was drunk enough not to question himself tonight, and not to call himself all sort of derogatory names; he just answered the urge to see her by climbing up the ivy without even thinking. His usual grace was non-existent, and his feet slipped multiple times, but he managed it after all, settling himself on the ledge, hidden just out of sight. _One of these days_, he thought to himself, _that trellis is going to crash tumbling to the ground, ivy and all_; the whole wooden lattice had groaned under his weight and shook like a living thing trying to dislodge an annoying bug. He took a few deep breaths and then peeped inside the room, illuminated only by the glow of the fire in the huge fireplace.

What he saw made him start and lose his balance; his feet kicked out trying to gain ground against the void as he fell, and he found himself dangling from the latticed trellis, his breath panting and his head clearing of his drunkenness within seconds. He flexed his muscles, trying to pull himself up to the ledge, and then the wooden structure started groaning and creaking; with rising panic Fenris realised the structure was coming loose from the wall. Minutes before it all went down crushing to the ground, he made a herculean effort and just thrust himself upwards, holding on to the ledge with one hand, looking back to see the wooden lattice crash to the ground, still entangled with the lush ivy.

He gulped, measuring the distance, and then pulled himself up and looked inside the room again, the adrenaline of his near escape abating until his blood run as cold as ice at the sight.

There, on the huge canopied bed, Anders was making love to Hawke.

Fenris watched. He could do nothing else. Bile was rising in his throat, his heart was beating a mile a minute and he had a hard time controlling the flaring of his markings.

On the bed, Anders had Hawke naked and her luscious body, pale in the faint light, glistened and shone like alabaster. His large hands were running all over her flesh, reverently, gently caressing her, memorising every small dip and curve. Fenris hurt to see the absorbed, radiant expression on the mage's face, the small delighted smile that played around his mouth as Hawke writhed and responded to his touch. He hurt to see the way she had surrendered her body to the mage's hands, the trust with which she had bared her flesh to him, her blush and the way her mouth opened into a little shocked 'o' of surprise as that damned healer explored her.

Damn him, he wasn't good enough to even breathe the same air as Hawke. Nobody was. How could she let him...damn them. Damn them both. Fenris grit his teeth and looked away, but against his will, his eyes were drawn to the sight once again. He could not look away, not even when Anders struggled with his own clothes, not even when the he had been left completely nude, his excitement obvious. Mentally, and hating himself for it, Fenris compared himself to the mage, compared everything; Anders' paleness in contrast to his own dark complexion, the width of the other man's shoulders and the bulk of his body in comparison to his own slim elvish build. Even...at least they were almost equals there.

Then Anders whispered something to her and she laughed, and Fenris closed his eyes, a dagger twisting in his gut, as the mage bent his head to her, took a rosy nipple in his mouth and made her body contort and arch off the mattress. He could not hear them, but he easily imagined the sounds she had to be making, the moans falling off her rosy lips as the mage used his mouth on her breasts, and his fingers on her centre. He remembered Isabela commending on Anders' notorious 'electricity trick' and gnashed his teeth together to see Hawke writhing under its effect now.

When that damned, blighted abomination put his mouth on her centre, her legs falling open to accept him, Fenris nearly lost it; he started trembling, shaking like a wet dog in the cold. He remembered her taste, her scent, the heat and wetness as she had once accepted him, and he could watch no more.

Praying that the mage would be done with her soon, he closed his eyes and endured, willing himself not to open his eyes again, willing time to fly. The only way he could get down from that ledge would be for him to climb down the rough stone, and he dared not do that in the dark, not without breaking his neck. So he endured, teeth gnashed, body corded, heart bleeding.

The blighted mage took ALL night.

* * *

"Oh, Maker, Anders! Do that again!"

Anders chuckled and slid his hand down to between her thighs again, his fingers slipping through the moisture that had escaped her, until he found the place where she was swollen and stiffened for him, expertly running his fingers through her slit to focus on her little nub. He let a small spark of electricity course through his fingers and into her and moaned at the way she gasped and then shrieked as she came again.

"Maker!" she whimpered. "Again. More. Anders, more, heavens above, your fingers are magic!"

He slid his one hand up her torso, cupped a pebbled breast, and repeated the trick, shooting twin arcs of magic through her nipple and her clit, making her body writhe and shake. He inhaled the heated, musky scent of her excitement, rejoiced in the way her body shook and trembled, the breathless moans and the sweat that made her body glisten.

She was on her knees in front of him, her body leaning against his torso. All that glorious, nude skin, soft as velvet and pale as snow, bared to his sight and to his every whim. He had already come once, in her hands, when she had timidly caressed his body, explored him with tentative touches and a blush spreading down her throat and to the tops of her creamy breasts. _Maker bless Warden stamina_, he thought with a chuckle as his member rubbed against her luscious backside, already ready and standing proudly again, weeping pearly drops of precome.

She fell to her hands and knees, desperately trying to regain her breath, and he found the perfect chance to slide inside her, marvelling at how tight she was, how wet and hot and welcoming. She shot him a look over her shoulder and then with a deep, agonised moan, she buried her head in the pillows and surrendered to his sure, steady thrusts.

She was so dammed responsive, so submissive, so deliciously hot. Her sheath was like a tight glove of ecstasy around him, tightening rhythmically as if it was trying to milk him and he threw his head back, tightened his grip on her creamy hips and just gave in to the feeling; the nearly agonising pleasure, the heat and the moisture and the tightness. Her moans were muffled by the pillow and he didn't want that, so he pulled her back, her back again cradled against his torso and wrapped his arms around her.

"Anders," she moaned, and her head fell back onto his shoulder, giving him a wondrous view of her pouty lips, her panting mouth, that little frown of concentration between her eyebrows as she concentrated on her approaching climax.

"Hawke...baby," he moaned too, "you're so good, baby. This is...Maker. Sweet Maker!"

She agreed with a guttural groan as her body tightened again around him and her thighs started trembling. Little cries started spilling from that sweet little mouth as she pulsed around him once again, and her climax made her body convulse and wetness stream out of her, making Anders' body tense too, streaks of pleasure coursing down his spine to his staff like lightning, signalling his imminent release.

He latched his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, biting down hard as he came, her moist depths still contracting around him and welcoming the jets of seed he shot deep, deep inside her, coating her, marking her, claiming her for his.

They collapsed backwards on the bed together, still connected, his arms still tightly wrapped around her heaving torso, and she chuckled, mumbled something about how she should have let him do this to her much earlier. He was grinning like an idiot, a huge grin splitting his face in two. For the first time in years the gaping void in his heart felt full. His heart felt huge and tender in his chest as he gathered her shaking body to him and cuddled her to his side. Maker, he had been so desperately, madly in love with her, but had long resigned himself to the fact that her heart was taken and she was never going to be his. But she had decided to give him a chance, and that all he had ever wanted. He would make her love him, he would do anything in his power to show her how much they belonged together.

Just as he was about to fall asleep, with every intention to just nap for a while before he was on her again, he thought he saw a shadow of a movement outside her window and then he heard a faint, muffled crash.

The last conscious thought that went through his mind before falling asleep was that he had the feeling somebody was watching.

But the Fade was beckoning and he paid no heed to it.

* * *

The fade was always a place where half of him was loathe being and half of him rejoiced to return to. At least, one of the good things about being merged with Justice was that every time he stepped into that hazy, foggy domain, where colours and shapes looked as if distorted by a fogged and wrapped looking glass, demons had no chance to approach him, because Justice had buddies there, Valour and Honour, and they all looked after him.

Most of the times, his stay in the Fade consisted of sermons and lecturing from Justice, ideas on the manifesto, and criticism on Anders recent quests. Quite often he got a running lecture on his infatuation with Hawke, and Anders was not looking forward to Justice starting to speak. It was disturbing for someone to use his own mouth and voice to scold him; he could never get used to it. And he was in no mood to have the bubby, happy mood he was in to be ruined.

But Justice surprised him. As soon as he awoke to find himself in the Fade, the spirit chuckled and said:

"It is poetic justice that the mage-hater had to watch that."

Anders woke up with a jolt, and remembered the glimpse of movement outside the window and the crash. He held his breath, trying to catch any suspicious sound and then crept out of the room and cautiously approached the window, peeking briefly outside.

He saw Fenris, his face turned to the moonlight, his eyes closed, tears running down his face.

Hawke stirred in the bed behind him, putting out her hand to find his on the mattress, and he turned to her with a fake smile, trying to hide his shock, his mind working a mile a minute; if he told her, she would be mortified. She would probably try and talk to the elf, she would try to explain, to comfort him.

Did he have the right not to tell her? She loved the elf. He knew she loved the elf. He had no doubt she would go to him, and then the chance Anders was so glad to have received just a little while ago would disappear like a poof of smoke.

He felt himself get frustrated, poised between doing what was right, even at the risk of losing her, and the instinctive urge to protect his newfound happiness. Anger rose, acute distaste for the elf, who had never deserved her love and had gotten it anyway. He had hurt Hawke, used her and tossed her away without so much as an excuse and Anders had been left trying to console her for three years. He had tossed that amazing woman aside, the woman that Anders fucking lived for, had made her question her own value and worth.

Damn him, he had broken her heart. He should open that window and shove the bastard down to the street to crack his thick skull on the stones.

In a flash, Anders' decision was made.

Justice was right. It was poetic justice. And he would make sure the elf knew who Hawke belonged to, before this night was over.

* * *

"Anders..." Hawke moaned, "Please, Maker, no more."

Anders hushed her with yet another deep kiss, and she whimpered.

"You can take me once more, Hawke," he cajoled her, petting her wildly trembling body that was bathed in sweat. "Shhh...Once more, little girl. I know you want to."

His hand slipped to her core that was drenched in their combined fluids. He had taken her more than three times already, had emptied himself in her convulsing depths again and again, until there was no inch of her womanly core not coated with his essence. Her legs were trembling; her breath was panting. She had come more times than he could count, screaming his name, mewling it, screeching it. She was purring under his touch now, and he sent a little jolt of electricity coursing through her over-sensitised clit, making her eyes roll back once more.

She drew a few convulsive breaths, and then came once again, bathing his fingers in her wetness.

"Oh, no, no more...no. Damn you... Don't listen to me... Oh, Maker, again."

"Make up your mind, Hawke," he teased, his fingers sliding onside her once again, "yes or no?"

"Once more," she purred. "Maker, you're killing me. Give me more."

Anders smiled bent his head to her rosy nipples again, suckling her like a hungry child, making her mewl. His hand was an instrument of magic between her legs, expertly, relentlessly strumming her nerve endings. She gasped as one finger slipped into her ass, another in her sheath, while his thumb pressed down on her clit; he pumped and she fell apart.

He had taken her so many times already, had made her body flame and explode. His mouth should have been outlawed, it was so wickedly talented, his hands...Maker, his hands. His hands were pure, unadulterated magic. His stamina was the stuff of legends.

She grunted his name again as he positioned her on his lap, slipping that mouth-watering cock back inside her; long and thick, the bulging veins rasping against her inner tissues, the engorged head bumping against that perfect spot inside her. His hands came up to hold her, move her forcibly up and down his length, raising her effortlessly up and then letting her weight drag her down to impale herself. Cream escaped her, a mix of the seed he had pumped inside her and the wetness she had released, the wetness that was still gushing out of her. She was like a rag doll in his arms, surrendering her body to him, trusting him to lead her to ecstasy once more.

He was chanting her name, breathing obscene, dirty words in her ear, praising her, telling her how hot and perfect she fit around his cock, how it felt to fuck her. Every word served to inflame her even more, to push her just a little bit higher, the rigid coil of sensation winding tighter and tighter still, until it would snap and hurtle her among the stars.

He let her body tip back onto the mattress without breaking contact and covered her again, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist in a death grip; he chuckled and raised them higher, over his shoulders, sank down low on his knees and pulled her to him, her body's heated centre totally exposed to him, at his mercy. She gasped as the movement took him deeper inside her aching depths.

"This has to last," Anders murmured against her lips. "Something this perfect can't be rushed. Hmmm…you're so hot, so snug...I can't get enough of you."

She cried at his words, her fingers clenching convulsively around his. "Anders, please!"

"Like silk" he continued, his voice strained. " So soft, so snug… You're tight, you're wet. Sweeter than anything I've ever felt in my life."

He started to withdraw and she whimpered, trying to arch up against him, following the retreat of his hips with hers, eager to keep him inside her.

Anders laughed, a rough, husky sound, as he closed his hands around the voluptuous curve of her hips, holding her still as he pulled out, surging back into her with one long, slow stroke. He turned to the side and run his mouth up one silky calf then nibbled on her toes as he continued to thrust, slow, languid strokes, his hips rolling. Deep inside her, she felt his cock throb, felt the ridged head of him pressing against her womb. Something hot and hungry coiled in her belly as he pulled out and drove back in, just as slowly, just as teasingly as before.

Beneath him, Hawke groaned, sinking her teeth into her lip, her head moving back and forth on her pillow. She was chanting his name, her hands playing with her own nipples, her eyes, heated with desire until they burned golden, locked onto his own.

"Kiss me," she breathlessly begged, and he could not deny her. Letting her legs slide down to the mattress again, he bent over her, sighing in content as he captured her sweet taste, like rich caramel. She groaned greedily and caught his tongue between her teeth and bit delicately, smiling against his lips as he growled and started shafting her with hard, short thrusts of his cock.

"Witch," he whispered huskily.

"Hmmmm." She flexed her internal muscles, shuddering as he drove into her again, harder, until she started to slide across the bed, the sheet bunching under her. His hands slipped under her, bracing her shoulders as he took her, even harder, even faster.

She could feel it, the bright, dazzling orgasm, just out of reach…his body pressed against her clit with every stroke. Just a little harder—that's all she needed, just a little more, a little harder. Hawke tightened the muscles of her sheath around him once more and he bellowed out her name, stiffening above her and starting to drive into her roughly. All finesse and teasing forgotten now, Anders , staring down at her, pumped in and out with all the strength he had in his back and hips, muscles bunching, gleaming in the backwash of the sparks flying from his body.

Magic, uncontrolled and desperate, pulsed from him like a rain shower, in brilliant sparks of light and color that danced and played over her skin. Her own magic rose to meet his, and elemental power danced around them, bathing their bodies in an eerie, otherworldly glow. A halo of power rose above them, brilliant lights dancing and weaving above their heads, their magic mating just as their bodies were on the bed.

_So damned lovely_, he thought helplessly as she screamed out his name, throwing her head back. She convulsed around him, her entire body tensing, her sheath so tight

he had to work his length inside her with every harsh thrust.

His climax slammed into him, wrapping a fist around his gut as he came inside her, hot washes of seed splashing deep inside the welcome depths of her sex. She was still climaxing around his member, those little milking sensations drawing his own climax out, on and on, until she had drained him dry. He sank into her, the soft contours of her body cushioning his.

With a groan, he flipped onto his back, pulling her with him so that she draped over him.

Sleep loomed near, and just before she fell into its arms, she thought she heard him whisper, "I love you, Hawke."

She didn't reply, but at that moment, the bliss of his latest orgasm still surging inside him, he didn't mind. He wondered vaguely if the elf was still at the window, and congratulated himself on the show he had put on.

She sighed in her sleep, her fingers unlocking their grip in his hair, caressing down his cheek. His heart clenched as she murmured, "Love you, Fenris"

Hearts could break like glass, happiness could dissolve like a wisp of smoke, on the heels of ecstasy pain, throbbing and searing, could follow.

Anders learned all that and more that night, when he held the woman he loved in his arms, unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling.

* * *

Anders woke up alone in the huge bed the following morning and following the rumbling of his stomach, he quickly cleaned himself with a wet washrag, dressed and went down to the kitchen n search of breakfast and Hawke.

He was still numb, not knowing how to respond to the events of the previous night. One side of him was elated, the pleasure of flesh still fillings him with euphoria; another was filled was shame at the way he had allowed an intimate moment to be used as a tool for revenge. But the biggest part of his soul was filled with pain and on its heels anger was slowly forming.

He searched for Hawke, the desire to confront her more and more pressing. What in the Void was he for her? Was he just a convenient fuck, a mere friend with benefits? Had she used him in anyway? He _felt_ used, Maker, he felt cheated. Why couldn't she love him? Just him, Anders. Why couldn't she let him in a little bit?

He stopped in his tracks and sighed. She had let him in. She had never lied; she had never said she loved him; all she had said was that she was tired of being alone, that she was going to make an effort to let him in her heart and life. He hadn't really expected her to confess her undying love after a couple of orgasms, had he?

Well if he had, he'd been a fool.

He wasn't giving up so easily. He would fight for her. With that thought resolve straightened his shoulders and he decided never to mention her little slip of tongue.

He would do anything in his power to have his own name whispered from now on. Maker's breath, she would be his. He would win her over.

He followed the sound of her voice to the street outside and found her standing under the window of her bedroom, along with Bodahn, looking at the collapsed trellis. The ivy was still entangled in it, lying across the street.

He paused, looked up at the ledge and shook his head.

"Anders," she turned to him, breathless and shocked. "Look at that. The whole thing came down and it wasn't even windy last night. What do you think happened?"

He kept his mouth shut and shrugged looking up at the impressive height. How had the blighted elf climbed down from up there?

"Don't worry messere," Bodahn was assuring her, "I will have a carpenter fix this. It was probably old and weathered anyway."

Anders wrapped his arms around Hawke's waist and she blushed a bit and looked up at him with a warm smile. She nuzzled his nose, the intimacy in the gesture making his heart stop. Just then, though, when he was ready to lay a small kiss on her pouty mouth, his stomach groaned loudly and she laughed.

"Come," she said and dragged him in. "I'll make you a sandwich."

Bodahn went about to fetch a carpenter from the Lowtown market and when the man climbed up a ladder to start securing the wooden lattice to the wall, he stared at the deep marks on the wall. They looked like claw marks. He run his fingers over the gashes, wondering briefly what could have made them, then shrugged and went on with his work.

* * *

Fenris emerged from his mansion after an impressive three day wine-binge, his eyes blood-shot, his head pounding like a dwarven forge and his heart in pieces.

The first time he saw Hawke with Anders, he felt like someone was trying to remove all his organ with a rusty nail filer. It was slow, agonising pain. He schooled his expression not to show anything, tapping into the experience years of practise into not letting a single muscle on his face twitch, and pretended he didn't care.

He did though, Maker, he did.

The sight of that abomination touching her hand casually, or running his hand through her hair, the warm smile he got in return; there was no denying it. It hurt. It hurt worse than what he had seen that night, because that was sex, this was intimacy. This was affection.

He felt like banging his head against the nearest wall until his brains splattered. Had he not waited, had he not let his fear and indecision cloud his judgement, this would never have happened. She would have taken him back, he was certain she would.

But now all he could do was watch, as the woman of his heart, the woman of his dreams, the only ones he had ever allowed himself to harbour, _his_ Hawke was taken by that damned apostate. He had to watch her smile at _him_, speak to _him_ with that soft, intimate voice and smile that small secretive grin to _him_.

Anders. _Him_.

Then the Qunari mess happened, and there was no time for broken hearts and regrets; they struggled to get out with their lives intact and , invariably, Hawke was dragged to the thick of it all.

Now Fenris had to watch as the only woman he had ever loved stood proudly in front of the Arishok and gambled her life to save the Rivaini whore. He had to watch, not showing the agony, the sheer, breathless panic gripping his insides as she fought what seemed to be a desperate battle.

She came out victorious at the end; at a heavy price, bloody, wounded, barely alive, but she won. Anders healed her, damned his talented hands, and Maker be blessed for them.

She was no Champion of Kirkwall and that title was the last nail on the coffin of Fenris' hopes. She was the Champion now, the most prestigious noble in Kirkwall; more than mistakes and regrets now separated them. She had achieved a stature he could never match; she had become so very much above him, a lowly elven ex-slave, that there never was place for him beside her.

He resigned to his fate then, his very soul weeping, and finally realised he had lost her forever.

Three years passed like that.

* * *

"I can't, Anders," she pleaded once more. "Please try to understand."

Anders paced in front of the fireplace.

"All I'm asking is for you to go and have a little conversation with the old crone. Where is the harm in that?"

"Why?" she tried to catch his eye. "Why do you want that? Anders, what are you hiding?"

He just looked at her and his lips tightened before his gaze shifted. Hawke knew him too well. He was hiding something.

"Love, it is not safe for you to know. Please trust me."

She stomped her foot down, exasperated. "How can I trust you when you don't tell me anything? How can I blindly trust you won't do something stupid?"

"Love is about trust, Hawke," he spat. "But I forget myself; you don't love me. You never did. Three years, and you still...ah, screw this. I'm out of here."

She reached out for him but he ignored her and made his way to the door, grabbing his staff on the way. Hawke was left gazing after him, her heart breaking. He had drifted away from her these past few months, his cause consuming him more and more. She felt guilty for it, like if she could just have loved him like had wanted, he wouldn't have fallen prey to the ramblings of Justice in his head.

But the heart did not take orders.

Her lips started trembling and she stubbornly resisted the urge to cry. A man that loved her, but she could not love back. A man she loved, but had never cared for her. One man she wanted, another she allowed to warm her bed.

Andraste help her, she had made a mess of it!

* * *

Anders leaned against the door and fought with everything inside him not to turn back and go to her. The time for love was over. It was done. There could not be any half-measures anymore; the wheels of change had already been set in motion. Tomorrow, a new day would dawn on Thedas, a day when mages would finally break free from the yolk of oppression. There would be no half-measures, no compromise. After tomorrow, the mages would either fight for their freedom or die slaves.

He would probably be dead at this time tomorrow, he thought to himself as he watched the sun set, casting the last desperate rays of orange light over the horizon.

And Hawke would be alone again.

He closed his eyes. Hawke. Three years that she had lain with him, had laughed with him, took care of him; fed him, darned his bloody socks, opened her arms and her body to him night after night. She had helped him with his cause, sat up with him when the nightmares came, made sure he ate and slept when Justice raved and demanded that he had to finish the nth copy of his manifesto.

But she didn't love him. She had never loved him, not as anything more than her trusted, beloved friend. And he was still so desperately, so madly in love with her.

He hung his head. He was going to betray her tomorrow, he was going to break the one promise he had made that really mattered, late one night when she had woken up to see him getting dressed and had asked him with a trembling voice if he was leaving her too.

"I will never leave you," he had sworn.

And tomorrow he was going to be forsworn.

Justice ragged in his mind that love was not important, that sacrifices had to be done for the cause to succeed. Anders knew that and he was prepared to sacrifice everything he was and everything he had; but not Hawke. Not her happiness.

Sighing heavily, he pushed himself off the door, taking a final moment to caress the wood as if he could caress the woman behind it and then left, but not in the direction of his Lowtown clinic.

He headed to another mansion in Hightown instead.

* * *

"What do you want?" a hostile voice made Anders jump. He was standing in the...what was once the foyer of Fenris' mansion, wondering how to alert the elf to his presence when he heard that voice dripping with venom.

"To talk," he raised his eyes to the top of the staircase where the elf had already half pulled his sword from inside his scabbard.

"What about?"

Anders sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Something that concerns you. Can we sit somewhere?"

Fenris looked at him with a totally unreadable expression in his eyes before sheathing his sword again and slowly coming down the stairs.

"I have disposed of one mage this week, abomination, I will not hesitate to do so again."

Anders huffed. Danarius was dead a little less than a week and the elf was getting cocky.

Fenris sat on the last step and gestured Anders towards a crate. The mage raised an eyebrow.

"I will not have my living space polluted by the likes of you," Fenris taunted him with a malicious look on his face and Anders struggled not to take the bait, not to get angry, reminding himself of why he was here.

He sat down and then smirked. "Let me get to the point then. I am here about Hawke."

"What about her?" Fenris' shoulders tensed immediately and he made a visible effort to control his expression but not before Anders had the chance to catch the expression of surprise on his face.

"Let us just cut to the chase, shall we?" Anders waved. "I know you were there, on the window ledge, three years ago. I saw you."

Fenris' eyes blew as wide as saucers and a small pink blush tinted his cheeks before he narrowed his eyes.

"You...you knew?" he snarled. "You used her," his markings started flashing. "You put on a show for my benefit. You used her."Anders dismissed his words with a careless gesture. "That is besides the point."

Fenris sprang to his feet, his whole body trembling and immersing in blue light.

"Besides the point? I should just kill you, you worthless excuse for a man! How dare..."

"Will you just shut up and let me finish?" Anders' voice boomed and he rose to his feet too. "You idiot, it was your name she called that night. 'I love you, Fenris', that's what she said! Will you just listen, for once in your life?"

Fenris' anger deflated; his markings stopped glowing and he shot the mage a strangely appealing, wide-eyed look. "She...what?"

Anders sat back down, rubbing the back of his neck, then his forehead. He felt tired, Maker, so tired. "She said she loved you, you idiot," he said in a small, resigned, defeated voice. "Maker, she has always loved you. Even when she lay with me, I always knew...it was you she loved."

Fenris brought a hand to his heart and drew in a convulsing breath.

"I tried," Anders was still mumbling, determined to get it all out, "Maker knows I tried. She has a heart as big as all outdoors, but there is only room for one man in there, and it has always been you. She's never denied it."

Fenris crossed the space to the mage and grabbed him by the robes. "Why are you telling me all this? Why now?"

Anders smiled a small self-deprecating grin and disentangled himself from the elf's grip.

"Because she will need you in the days to come." He nodded to the elf. "Be there for her."

"What have you done, mage?"

Anders smiled.

"That's for me to know, and you to find out."

* * *

Hawke stared at the fireplace. That's all she could do.

She vaguely heard voices from outside the door, voices entreating her to open, to let them in. She shivered and hid herself into the tattered old robe that belonged to her father.

She wanted them all gone. All.

Her mind was still reeling from shock, her body trembling with exhaustion, various nicks and gashes haphazardly tended to and bandaged. She looked to her hands that hours ago had been so bathed in blood she had though nothing would get them clean again.

Anders had betrayed her. He had blown up the Chantry, killing Elthina, putting a war in motion. Countless innocents had been lost; countless more would follow. He hand had been irrevocably forced, she'd had to make the choice: templars or mages?

In the end, she could not turn her back on her own kind.

And Anders...the man that had claimed to love her...she had briefly, blinded by rage and the gnawing, overwhelming feeling of betrayal wanted to grand him his wish and make his a martyr, but in the end, she realised that having to live with what he had done would be the greatest punishment.

She had told him to go, to get lost, to never show his face to her again. Sebastian had been livid, but in time, he would understand. She had led them all to the Gallows, where they would help defend the mages, feeling numb inside, not even noticing until they had arrived that Fenris, the mage-hater, had followed her, looking at her with unusual intensity.

Then all hell had broken loose and she had no time to think about his strange behaviour, about Anders' betrayal. Orsino turned to Blood Magic in his despair; he had fallen to her staff and the fury of her magic. Meredith turned out to be no less than a crazed monster, that accursed idol warping her mind into something sinister; she had fallen too.

Miraculously, they had all walked away with only bruises and nicks.

And she had walked away with her heart broken once more, and totally alone.

She whimpered, the thought penetrating her shock-hazed mind for the first time. She was alone. Once again, she was alone. Nobody to love her, nobody to make her feel wanted, no purpose, soon not even a home. She would have to make a run for it soon, she knew that, and for a moment she contemplated not even bothering. What was he purpose? She would be better off just staying here, until the templars came and killed her or made her Tranquil.

At least she would be so alone then; or she would be, but she wouldn't care.

She ignored the heavy banging on the door and snuggled in the robe even more, willing the world to just leave her alone. Behind her, a window was pushed open, but she didn't even notice.

A hand landed on her shoulder.

She jumped a foot in the air, turned around in a whoosh of movement and panic, to come face to face with Fenris.

"Hawke," he muttered, and he wiped the tear that she hadn't even known had been trailing down her cheek.

"What are you doing here?" she squeaked, her heart still beating a mile a minute. "Get out!"

"Just one question, Hawke, and if you still wish me to leave, I shall," he breathed, his eyes pining her with intensity, with single-minded determination.

She nodded for him to continue, and he took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second and then reopened them to stare deep, deep into her soul.

"Do you still love me, Hawke?"

Her eyes blew wide before she sputtered, indignation rising inside her like a wave.

"Do I what?"

He moved closer, until inches of space separated their bodies, and she bit her lip, his proximity suddenly pumping adrenaline through her veins for a completely different reason than anger.

"Do you still love me?" he repeated, his eyes zeroing in on that bitten lip, his breath now coming in exited little pants. "Because," he continued, "I never stopped."

He just stared at him, not comprehending, her eyes as wide as that of a frightened doe in front of a predator.

"You...never stopped," she stuttered, "doing what?"

"Loving you," a hand came up to cup her cheek, then trail down her throat. "Wanting you," and his lips landed on hers, a soft sigh of want escaping him. "Dreaming of you, your touch. I remember it as if it were yesterday, Hawke," and his arms drew her in against his body, a moan rumbling in his chest.

Tears sprang to her eyes.

"Damn you!" she hit her fists against his chest. "Why are you doing this to me? I had given you up Fenris, I had taught myself to live without you. Why are you doing this, you bastard?" she raged, tears running down her face.

He captured her fist in his hands and nuzzled her chin, forcing her eyes up to his; Hawke drew a sudden, surprised gasp. Fenris eyes, always so guarded, so used to hiding his emotions, were now luminous with want, ablaze with love and lust and need.

"Because. I . Love. You." He enunciated and she finally started to believe. Hope blossomed like a rose unfurling its petals to the morning sun. She stood there, looking at him, not daring to believe, but wanting it with all her soul, not daring to hope but praying that she could.

"Say something," he shook her. "Put me out of my misery."

"I love you too," she blurted out and then her eyes softened, filling with love. "I love you," she repeated, with feeling this time, her eyes caressing his face. "I always have and always will."

He closed his eyes for a minute, relief flooding him.

"Thank the Maker!" he whispered, before one hand released hers and tangled in her hair, pulling her forward into what must have been the hottest, more passionate kiss of her entire life, his mouth fastening hungrily on hers while his hands rediscovered the sleek curves of her body. Without another word he lifted her and carried her across the bedroom, tossing her across the bed. Swiftly he pulled her robe off, then shoved the shift she was wearing up to reveal her pretty round breasts.

"I can't take it slow," he whispered, jerking his breaches open.

She didn't need for him to take it slow. She needed _him_, and she held her arms out to him. He spread her thighs and mounted her after ripping her smallclothes off, controlling himself just long enough to slow his entry so he wouldn't hurt her, and with a low cry of pleasure Hawke took him into her body.

Fenris growled, low and deep, the sound making his chest vibrate, his eyes squeezed shut as he held himself stiff, impossible deep in her body. The tight, snug fit, the wetness that rushed out to meet him, the scorching, welcoming heat; it felt like home.

"Say it again," he commanded, his body poised above her.

"I love you," she run her hand through his hair, then arched up to take him deeper.

"Again."

"I love you."

He thrust once, powerfully, making stars explode behind her eyes.

"Don't stop saying it," he breathed as his body erupted into movement, shafting her with strong, bruising thrusts.

It became a chant, a broken litany of love, as he claimed her body and she claimed his soul.

* * *

Later, they lay in bed together, contentment spreading through them, when Varric started banging on the door again. When none of them made an movement to acknowledge the intrusion of the outside world into their little bubble of happiness, a sigh echoed form outside, exaggerated and theatrical.

"Assuming that Hawke is alive in there," Varric shouted, "It might interest her to know that Cullen has sent a message suggesting we scamper. The templars are coming, my little lovebirds."

Hawke tensed and shot a guilty look to Fenris.

"I will have to leave the city.."

"_We_ will have to leave the city," Fenris corrected, claiming her lips in a tender, slow kiss. "You had better not be thinking of going somewhere without me."

"You don't mind?" she bit her lip. "You have finally made a life for yourself here, and now you would leave it all behind for me?"

"You need a keeper," he smiled and then taking her by surprise, swiftly turned her around so she was lying underneath him again, his hips cradled in the vee of her thighs, his erection a hard, hot length against her tender flesh.

"I am serious, Fenris," she tried to withstand the pleasure of his mouth on her breasts, trying desperately to retain her sanity.

"So am I," he moaned as he slipped inside her. "You are not going anywhere without me. I'll marry you and keep you pregnant and chained to the kitchen sink if I must."

Her eyes widened and then a smile lit up her face. "Is that a proposal?"

"It's an order."

"And...babies?"

Fenris groaned. The mention of babies was not the best for his control, not while he was balls deep inside her; it made him want to fill her up right now, release his seed inside her, get started on those babies; _right now_. The thought of one day seeing her round with his baby was making his body tremble with excitement.

"Not right now," he answered and continued thrusting, pushing them both towards the end.

She purred underneath him and her hips undulated, rising up off the mattress to meet his thrusts. "The time is right," she laughed and Fenris raised his head from her breast, charmed to hear her laugh and thrilled with the possibility that he could be making a child with her at this very instance.

Before he could answer her though, Varric's voice sounded again from the door.

"Godfather. I call dibs."

The end.


End file.
